Actually Something Else
by mushroom-hunter-d
Summary: Bridget is used to being mistaken for a girl, but on the day he meets the legendary pirate Johnny, he finds himself wishing he was one. Onesided slash. Oneshot.


Guilty Gear X2 #Reload belongs to Sammy and Cyberfront. This fic is loosely based on the conversation between Bridget and Johnny, but I haven't quoted it exactly. It's also an exercise in first person and present tense, neither of which I've written before. There won't be a chapter two. Enjoy.

* * *

Today I've picked a good spot. I've met quite a few interesting people already, wandering this road. Although I admit I haven't actually achieved anything much. I spend the afternoon sitting against the base of a tree and watching the sunlight play through the leaves. Someone interesting has to come along soon. 

Someone does.

I'm not just a pretty face, you know. Behind my big blue eyes lurks a damn good memory, and I have the entire wanted list at my fingertips, so to speak. At least, those on the list worth enough money for me to be bothered with.

Tall, blond, big black coat and hat, long sword. Ding ding ding! We have a winner. This guy is worth money with a capital 'M'. My brilliant memory informs me that I'm looking at none other than the infamous pirate, Johnny.

Of course, it's the fault of the official description, rather than my memory, that I wasn't forewarned of the fact that he is absolutely, jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and that getting within ten feet of him would make me act like my brains had leaked out my ears. I'm getting _brains_ on my shoes! Well, maybe it's drool.

I manage to shut my mouth as he approaches. He's noticed me, that's for sure – well, who wouldn't – but he's not altering his course along the road. He shows off his shadowed profile as he scans the countryside, as if he's looking for something. I'll definitely capture his attention more completely soon.

He's not wearing a shirt; this seems to be the fashion around here. I wonder how far down that golden tan extends and nearly give myself a nosebleed.

I get to my feet and he turns his attention back to me. Boyish charm now – I open my eyes wide and flick some of my blond hair out of my face. And yeah, maybe I pout a little too. Come on, man, I'm irresistibly cute and almost legal, although if it came down to it there's no way I'd tell him about the 'almost' part. I manage to tear my gaze away from his chest and meet his eyes.

Oh my, they're blue. I mean, I knew this; his rap sheet had told me so. But there was no way I could comprehend just _how_ blue until I saw them peering at me over the top of his shades. Over the top of those shades and right through my clothes.

My face must be as red as a tomato and I can feel my heart thudding in pulse points I didn't even know I had.

Somehow, I find my voice. One way or another I'm not just going to let him walk past, even if I am on the receiving end of the most thorough visual going-over I've ever experienced. Sun-drenched Adonis or not, he's worth a lot of money.  
"Hey mister," my weapon spins across my fingertips and I tilt my head enticingly, "are you going to let me tie you up?"

I think what is left of my brain shorts out when he says yes. And that voice – it's like molten chocolate laced with crushed glass. He even raises his arms a bit as if to hold them out for binding and his coat pulls away from him slightly. I notice that his trousers hang just below his hips, and might as well be painted on, for the most part. Why the hell is he wearing that huge belt, then? Tease.

Wait. He said yes. Believe it or not, the wheels in my mind _are_ turning, just a little slowly. Why did he say yes? He must know he's a wanted man, right? I mean, obviously he's wanted, probably by just about everyone he meets, but I mean in the legal sense. Laced with innuendo or not, my question wasn't a joke. Maybe he thought he could seduce his way out of anything – well, despite appearances, I'm not that much of a pushover. But I'm willing – more than willing – to let him try.

His smile is pure sin. I don't think there's any ambiguity about what we're talking about, but I still can't believe this is for real. What's left of my common sense reminds me this guy has a threat rating of A.  
"Are you sure?" Not exactly the most subtle of enquiries, but give me a break, at least it's a coherent sentence.  
His shoulders curve into an elegant shrug. "I always keep my promise to a lady."

I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I think my internal organs have iced up; this guy is even worse than that creepy doctor – Johnny messes with my insides just by looking at me. Okay, this isn't funny. I mean, yeah, I guess I look like a girl, at least when I'm doing my cute and innocent act. But when I was blatantly flirting? Just what kind of girls does this guy know, anyway? And my voice isn't _that_ girly, and...and... I'm making excuses and I know it.

This can't end well.

"Actually," I mumble, the awkward act isn't an act anymore. "Actually, I'm a guy." There. I said it. Now what, Johnny? You gonna overlook this little problem – I'm still a cute blond, right?

He doesn't react quite the way I expect, or hope, really. He straightens up a bit and takes a deep breath, tilting his hat back on his head. I look at the stretch of exposed throat with the sinking feeling that's all I'm gonna get to do; look.

"Well, I'm afraid that I can't let you do that."

Well then I'm afraid I can't just let you go, Johnny. I don't say anything, I think I'm too busy just looking miserable and embarrassed, but he gets the idea. I guess he did know what my job was after all.

He slides into a fighting stance, his expression vaguely amused. Yeah well, I surprised him once, and I'll do it again, I hope. Maybe he'll end up trussed in my magical threads after all.

So we fight. His blade is as fast and bright as a flame; the steel licking at my defenses. The man just doesn't stand still. He's got a smile on his face now, as he twists and turns – more than he has to, I think, but I forgive his flashy style. He looks good enough to get away with it.

I play my magic tricks, but I know that ultimately, I'm fighting a losing battle. I inwardly cheer when a lucky shot clocks him in the side of the head, but he recovers almost instantly, his grin still in place. He's too skilled, too fast, and I keep getting distracted by the skin I see every time his coat swishes away from his body. I mean, really, what kind of fighting technique is _that_? Yes, I'm aware of my hypocrisy, thank you.

Eventually, inevitably, it ends.

I hit the ground for the last time, and I struggle to my skinned knees, coughing and spluttering in the dust. I push my wimple out of my face; it's probably filthy as well.

My throat hurts. My eyes sting. I look up to see him, backlit by the afternoon sun, making sure his hair is still the way he wants it. Vain son of a bitch, I think.

He looks back at me briefly, and I see pity, _pity_, in his eyes. Oh the indescribable nerve of it. Just because he's so gorgeous, that of course I couldn't help falling head over heels. Bastard. I'll bet _he's_ never been on the other end of an impossible infatuation.

He turns and leaves without another word, his coat flapping behind him, his hair gleaming. He's still looking about all over the place. I wonder for the first time what he's doing here, and why he isn't pirating in his airship.

I manage to get to my feet, although I still feel a little wobbly. He didn't pull any punches and I'm sure that by tomorrow I'll be sporting some truly horrible bruises. I make it back to my tree, and lean against it, watching the shadows on the empty road.

Ultimately, I'm a bounty hunter, and he's an outlaw. I'm sure our paths will cross again. Right now I don't know if I'm happy about this or not. I've got more immediate concerns; injuries to tend to, pride to nurse. Maybe a bit of a broken heart to mend as well.

But it'll mend. I'm sure it will. And next time we meet I'll be that much faster, and that much more skilled. Maybe next time I will tie him up, and he'll have to seduce his way out after all. My mouth curls into a tired smile at the thought.

The End


End file.
